


Something

by Se7en_devils



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b Spoilers, Angst, Canon Compliant, Chess Metaphors, Comfort, Coping, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Se7en_devils/pseuds/Se7en_devils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it was the little things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting around on my computer for about what? Three weeks, I think? Didn't know when I was going to post it, but hey, it's Easter so have some nice pre-slash, possibly Sterek angst with a tad bit of fluff thrown in for good measure! Because hey, why not? Enjoy!

“So…” Stiles leaned against one of the loft’s columns, staring at Derek.  Slightly hunched over, eyes trained on his upturned hands, conflicted as ever Derek.  “Kate, huh?”

The silence was answer enough.

He could see the edges of fresh bandages peaking out from Derek’s shirt, could hear him breathe out heavily.  Underneath his breath Stiles muttered,  _“Seriously, can Peter get anything right?”_ , but Derek didn’t even snort.  Didn’t even raise his eyebrows in that judgemental way of his.

Stiles’ lips silently smacked together.  His foot hit against the concrete in wide sweeps, kicks that had no purpose except to divert his energy.  He fidgeted, little movements that screamed the usual - too much energy with too little focus.  Awkward gestures that showed he  _wanted_  to say something and that he  _wanted_  to do something, but he had no idea what those somethings were.

Because what do you say to the person who’s practically been life’s punching bag since they were fifteen?

_The truth, usually._

Except Stiles had never really been great with the truth.  He was good with bending things - that he could do.  He was good with waiting - waiting until a problem took care of itself.  But the truth?

The truth had never exactly been his forte.

“I…” Derek’s eyes minutely shifted up, which was as good as it was going to get - all things considered.  “I… should probably go.  But...thanks.  For telling me, I mean.  And not at the last minute when not knowing might literally kill me - so yeah…” He trailed off, eyes awkwardly drifting.  “I’m gonna look into it, okay?  Do some research.”

Because that was what he did.  He researched.  He googled.  He connected the dots.  He couldn’t give empathy like Scott, or intelligent reasoning like Lydia, or snarky reality like Isaac, or badass hunting skills like Allison - or like Allison had.  

(Sometimes he forgot his tenses.  And when he forgot his tenses, the ache that had become a constant thrum sharpened like knives pressed to his throat or daggers to his heart and shards of glass to his wrists.)

But he could give answers.

And sometimes, a solid answer was just as good as empathy any day.  Sometimes an answer was even better.

“It had to have been the scratch,” He said to himself, his usual mantra of outward thinking.  “That, or Peter was just a really shitty alpha,” Stiles said it before thinking that - as usual - humor probably wouldn’t have been the most appreciated tool of communication.

Derek snorted.

It was better than nothing.

Stiles kicked off from the column, his lips still doing that smacking thing that said he was still uncomfortable and still unsure and still…

A lot of things.

He was still a lot of things.

Mainly confused, but also awkward and weird and uncertain.  

Maybe that was why he said it, why he let the words tumblr from his lips like heavy weights.  Chains tied to his ankles, dragging him down into the ocean deep. “I missed you.”

Derek’s head shot up.  Eyes clouded with...something.

“I mean,” Stiles ducked his head.  Scratched the back of his neck and chewed on his bottom lip and looked away.  He couldn’t do this.  “When… When that thing was inside of me… I knew what was going on.  Vaguely, I mean.  There were moments, I guess.”

Moments of clarity.  Moments of control.  Moments where he was playing chess against himself, instead of  _Go_  with a thousand year old trickster.

Sometimes it was the little things.

“I should probably go.”

There was a pause.  A moment of silence as Stiles turned away and Derek turned towards.  Eyes drifting to and from.  “I was the king.”

Stiles stopped in his tracks, head turned over his shoulder and eyebrows raised.  “Huh?”

“On the chessboard in your room, I was the king,” For the first time since Stiles entered the loft, when he had pushed open the heavy door only to find Derek just sitting there, the beta was standing.  He was moving, slowly walking.  His features were just slightly scrunched.  “Why?”

Stiles was well-acquainted with using curiosity as a distraction, had had enough experience after one dose of frontotemporal dementia and several other doses of general death, gore, and violence.  But he also knew curiosity could be a diversion, a form of smoke and mirrors.  

Stiles shrugged, “Don’t know.  Probably had something to do with the psychotic fox taking up residence in my head, but that’s just a theory.”

“Chess doesn’t sound like the game of a Japanese fox.”

Stiles could feel the words hanging in the air.  Heavy little things dangling above them by a thread that was quickly slipping and rapidly snapping.  “Yeah, you’re right,”  He rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed into his pocket like a defense mechanism.  His smirk was quirky and taunting, but it was tinged with edges of hollowness that hadn’t been there before.  “But the king is the most vulnerable piece, y’know?"

“And the most important,” Derek tilted his head towards the chessboard, the one Peter still kept around for when he was bored and determined to pester Derek into playing.  “Without the king, there wouldn’t be a game to play.”

"Well..." Stiles faltered, his words fumbling more than he'd like.  As if that was something he had overlooked.  "Y’know…?”

Derek's eyebrows shot up in their typical look of doom, where they were simultaneously raised and scrunched - it was a look stiles was frighteningly familiar with.  “Are you asking me?”

Stiles gave a small snort, a short little thing, and a look of his usual bratty impetuousness.  They were slipping back into familiar patterns, falling back into old routines - little snips of familiarity that Stiles didn’t quite feel he deserved yet.  “I don’t know.  I’m not the one who’s been doing all the reading.  Because that’s what you’ve been doing, right?  Reading about chess?” It was a question with an answer they both knew; curiosity was a distraction.  “But then, I don’t think that’s the important question.  The important question is how gigantic is your ego, Derek?   _Really_?”

Derek snorted, stepping forward in calculated steps that immediately drew Stiles’ eyes.  Forced him to concentrate.  “I’m not the one who labeled the pieces.”

Stiles breathed caught a little.  A minor little hitch that he knew Derek had to have heard.  “And I’m not the one who played along.”

The conversation seemed to drop.  Derek crossed his arms over his chest, let his gaze cast downwards while Stiles let his gaze wander.  Looking out the loft’s window, scrutinizing the far above ceiling of rusty pipes and sketchy architecture.

“I need to go.”  The third time he had said and he still didn’t sound any more convinced than the first.  He needed to go, give Derek his space.  Stop being the sarcastic asshole with a terrible sense of humor and even worse sense of comfort.  

He needed to do what he did best;  _doing things_.  Moving, doing, jumping, running, researching - those were his things.   _Saying things?_   Not so much.  Stiles was of the opinion that sometimes there were things people would do, ticks people would take that couldn’t be quantified by language.  Couldn’t be explained through fumbling sentences and mumbled jargon.  Sometimes it was the stuff that was in between the lines that was really important.

And sometimes it was the stuff that was right in front of you.  But it was always the stuff you didn’t notice - whether it was in between the lines or right in front of you or somewhere in between.

Stiles turned to leave, already wondering whether wasting his blue yarns on Kate was necessary or appropriate - blue had always looked best on Derek anyways.  Or maybe he could buy some yellow yarn.  A new color for a new...something.

A new  _something_.

“Stiles?”

He turned around (Again.  God when would Derek learn that all this turning around and stopping in his tracks took some serious effort?   _Honestly_.) and quirked an eyebrow, waiting as Derek pierced him those eyes.  Those freaking...ugh.

Internally, Stiles just wanted to scream - and not just because of a pair of stupid eyes.  Because of a lot of things.  Lately, he found himself wanting to scream a lot.  It probably wasn’t healthy. “Yeah?”

“It’s...uh,” Derek looked down.  Stiles furrowed his brow, “It’s good to have you...”

“Not possessed?” Stiles helpfully supplied with upturned lips.

“Yeah.  That,” Derek shrugged, because being vague had always been a strong point of his, “It’s good...uh, it’s good to have you back.”

A  _new something._

Stiles turned.  His quirked a smile, a small little thing that reached his eyes and lifted his cheekbones, and he rolled his eyes.

_Something..._

**Author's Note:**

> if any of you would like I also lurk on [Tumblr](se7endevil.tumblr.com). Drop me an ask, send me some fanmail, give me a prompt, fling some hate at me. Y'know, whatever goes.


End file.
